Amateur Transmogrifierhttps://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com
God, I need to write more.Wed, 13 Dec 2017 23:29:11 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngAmateur Transmogrifierhttps://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com
“There’s no place like home, Toto.”https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/09/03/theres-no-place-like-home-toto/
https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/09/03/theres-no-place-like-home-toto/#respondSun, 03 Sep 2017 12:47:27 +0000http://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/?p=232More “There’s no place like home, Toto.”]]>“But it wasn’t a dream. This was a real, truly live place. And I remember that some of it wasn’t very nice – but most of it was beautiful. But just the same.”

I’ve successfully surrounded myself with my collected remnants of home: Scully and Mulder stand pensively on screen, a blanket from my Birmingham bedroom wraps around me despite the persisting summer nights, and the near ever-present contemplation of a cup of tea hangs over me as I battle my late evening laziness. Then I’m hit by the sobering notion of being 6,000 miles away from the place that makes all of these things so familiar. Just because I prepared myself for these feelings doesn’t make it any easier.

Homesickness is inevitable, but what isn’t inevitable is the quasi-contempt that brews in the belly of your home away from home. My move has made me appreciate Birmingham more than I ever expected to, but that’s partly due to the distance – it’s a nostalgic romanticisation of a place whose flaws I’m too quickly forgetting. First comes the inevitable comparisons, then the frustration, then the realisation that all of this fondness is as shallow as it is temporary. Homesickness is a stage you have to get past, but it’s tough. It’s really tough. I deride Sapporo for not being home, for not having all the comforts that I crave and the people I love and miss, but it’s a city that I adore and I’ve been allowing myself to forget that in the face of these feelings.

This isn’t permanent – my Sapporo stay, nor my homesickness. There’s peaks and valleys, and it just so happens that I’m stuck at the foot of a mountain with no energy and a sprained ankle. Give it two weeks, and I’ll be singing Japan’s praises again – I’ll be striding victoriously towards the summit and making the most of my tenure in my second home. The basis of these feelings forms at the feet of my own stubbornness; I’ve always been a homebody, I didn’t move out for Uni for that precise reason (and because I’m scrupulous as all fuck when it comes to money), so this is my first time living alone. I threw myself in the deep end with an anchor around my waist, having to learn to become an actual functioning adult whilst juggling with the concept of living in an almost entirely unfamiliar culture where I don’t speak a lick of the local language.

I like my comfort zone. I mean, I just like comfort in general, hence my well-documented hatred of the comfy-as-a-gravel-path futon, but I’m glad I decided to brazenly burst through the walls of my own self-enforced limitations. There’s nothing fun about stagnation, and there’s so much to see and do that a little bit of stress and discomfort seems like a worthy pay-off. I’ll reiterate: all of these things are temporary. I can walk out of my front-door right now (for the sake of story-telling and narrative impact, I’ll pretend there isn’t a long, austere corridor of concrete to trot down before I find myself outside) and I’m in Japan. Yes, my apartment is in Japan, it isn’t a portal to another realm, but it’s so littered with Joe-isms that it feels like a microcosm of my actual home. But I walk outside, and suddenly I don’t speak the same language as everyone else. I’m completely immersed in a culture that isn’t my own. I’m a world away from everything that’s familiar to me. That’s terrifying, right? Right. But it’s also fucking liberating. Thrilling. Giddying, and a host of other applicable buzzwords. I think we all live for that buzz, and when I remove myself from the mundane of my everyday life here, I’m afforded the realisation that I’m doing something worthwhile. Not just worthwhile for me and my own personal endeavour, but for those my job affects.

“The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.”

My previous view of Japan was very much through a rose-tinted looking glass – an idealised version of a culture that I was inherently fascinated by. My issue was that I’d romanticised the country to a point of reverence that it couldn’t possibly live up to. It was my own fault; my own lofty expectations had knocked Japan off the pedestal I’d been so quick to put it upon. I had to quickly recalibrate the way I looked at the country, because I was in danger of growing to resent it. Yes, it has its problems. It has glaring fundamental issues that I’m incapable of looking past, but no country or culture is perfect. No place is exempt from critique or comment. Japan is a country where society is predicated on conformity, it shuns individualism and thus rejects some level of progression. But I won’t let this descend into a diatribe about my own personal take on Japan’s societal issues. What I will say is my exposure to these has definitely dampened my adoration, but again, no culture is perfect and I’ll do my best to be cognisant of that. Once the initial novelty wears off, everything becomes routine. You no longer find interest in the minutiae of the country, because it’s second nature to you. You find a new perspective.

“Missile launch. Missile launch. A missile was fired from North Korea. Please evacuate to a sturdy building or basement.”

I can cope with a bout of homesickness. I can cope with the first week back at work after a much-needed layoff. I can cope with my propensity of living in my own head a bit too much. I can even cope with the apparent and immediate need to take shelter from a North Korean missile.

Okay, that last one was kinda a lie.

For (arguably the longest) fifteen minutes of my life, I was convinced that I’d soon be strolling the plains of a now desolate Sapporo, trading bottlecaps for winter clothing and my body for much-needed weaponry, like a post-apocalyptic drifter/hussy. It was a rude awakening, and one that I thought I’d never experience. Whilst the looming threat of a nuclear arms race with the rotund and loony leader of an impoverished country is still present, the comedown from the initial scare was one of complete confusion and disarray. Pile that on top of the aforementioned issues that I said I could deal with and you got the recipe for a hella stressful week. If they come at me one at a time I can happily knock them back, take them on, maybe fake cry and plead with them to leave me alone for a bit, but when I’m ambushed by all these things at once it is slightly overwhelming.

First week back at school? Stop being a pussy.

Homesickness? Watch some clips of Geordie Shore and vomit over the fact that I share my nationality with them.

Over-thinking things? Good headphones. Loud music. Drown myself out.

Is my building made of concrete? Hopefully. How long does it take for me to get underground? Longer than I’d like. Can I outrun a nuclear blast? No. Is there even a remote chance that any of these events may play out? It’s looking more and more likely.

Well, fuck.

Of course that’s just me being dramatic. An over-reaction to an admittedly super-stressful event, but this week has reinforced something I already knew: I have a fantastic support system. Both in Birmingham and Sapporo. I’m fortunate to have made friends for life out here. They’ve made homesickness a lot easier to deal with, and the threat of nuclear oblivion a little easier to swallow. My time in this country may end this coming March, or the next, but the relationships I’ve built with these people won’t. Yeah, I’d say this excursion has been wholly worthwhile regardless, but the company I’ve kept has made it far more enriching.

If we’re faced with the end of the world, then I at least want some good company for it. I’ve got that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have 14 episodes of the Twin Peaks revival to catch up on before we’re blown to smithereens by Kim Jong-Fun.

]]>https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/09/03/theres-no-place-like-home-toto/feed/0image1amateurtransmogrifierA Lesson in Divinity and the Mountains that Moved before Me.https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/06/03/a-lesson-in-divinity-and-the-mountains-that-moved-before-me-2/
https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/06/03/a-lesson-in-divinity-and-the-mountains-that-moved-before-me-2/#respondSat, 03 Jun 2017 09:24:11 +0000http://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/?p=227More A Lesson in Divinity and the Mountains that Moved before Me.]]>
The Eastern Education of an uninformed Westerner

“Shinto sees nature as the divinity itself.” (Palmer & Finlay. 2003)

A cityscape positioned precariously on the precipice. A fortified mecha of steel and titanium conjured up by the delirious minds of men hell-bent on innovation and security. The first-line of protection against seemingly incredulous acts of malevolence. A country driven by technology and imperious advancements finds itself under threat, but not from a sentient alien being whose only purpose is to destroy (as their literature may have you believe, ie. Neon Genesis Evangelion (Anno, 1995)) Instead, Japan’s most fearsome foe, despite being told otherwise by pen-wielding mercenaries, is its natural existence, or the uncompromising balance of which they’ve long-preserved, and the problems that 21st Century Japan has encountered.

It’s a teetering instability. With Japan’s growth comes its inevitable globalisation; a previously unimpeded culture begins to let Westernisation slip through the cracks of its ornately cobbled streets. But is congruence enough? The forced interdependence of two conflicting ideas can bring about, well, conflict. Is it truly possible for two things, two seemingly paradoxical things, to find that precarious, but poised co-existence which insists on their refusal to negate each other’s presence, instead combining to create something greater than the sum of its parts?

It’s possible for Japan.

An inherent love for their environment has been cultivated over thousands of years, values carried with them through wars, poverty, eruptions and disasters. The widespread smile on the face of the weathered countryman is a worthy adversary to any tragedy that the natural world can conjure up. They’re tried and tested, their loyalty stretched to the corners of their country and beyond and in spite of these trials, the Japanese remain temperate, with only love for their protectors.

But it’s being stretched further than they could’ve ever imagined.

___________________________

Of course, moments are fleeting; they’re but a small glance through an infinite peephole. A wise philosopher by the name of Calvin once stated, “Yes, we’re just tiny specks on a planet particle, hurling through the infinite blackness.” (Watterson, 1988) Yet no matter how supposedly insignificant you may seem, no matter how small the speck, Ecology insists that you will always serve a purpose. You’re a biological necessity, congruent with the ever-shifting world around you. Your purpose lies at your very core, every little detail in your genetic make-up is a feat of evolution. But it can be difficult to consider your purpose. Calvin’s cynical sentiment felt outweighed by his own childish joy, providing himself with purpose in the world, while those around him may not yet understand it. All it takes is cognisance, that sole moment in which we find a reason to exist. Yes, we may play a role in nature, but we can’t possibly devalue our own opinion of our existence.

“That even if that moment meant nothing to the Universe, it’s the closest thing to God I’ve got.” (Watsky, 2014)

Through that thousand year old peep-hole, I experienced just how big the world can feel. I felt my physical insignificance first-hand, but in that instance I felt I belonged. 6,000 miles from a home that I’d outgrown, I’d found a new one. Monolithic mountains adorned the grey horizon like sentient kami, watching patiently over the world and its people. There I was, below them, tucked underneath their careful gaze in a hulking piece of machinery. My soft breath on the window, I chased after the world with my amazed stare. In that moment, I’d reverted back to a child and was overcome with an implicit sense of wonderment, made so clear by my own expression and shared wholeheartedly by those I was travelling with. A deep grey set upon the skies, but the land of the Rising Sun shone through. It was a world untarnished by any momentary lack of colour or clouded empyrean. The peaks of mountains poked through the thick fog in search of sunlight. We on the ground weren’t afforded the same opportunity. Even as we approached the city’s stretch of high-rise plateaus, the sun could not be found, even by those on the top floor.

Bird songs to quietly accompany your journey, the quick bleating of Cicadas. Even in the rain, the wilderness comes to greet you. Even in the city, the countryside is inescapable. It’s carefully moulded into one. Distinct hazes of forest greens sit comfortably at the feet of architectural anomalies; the modernity of Japan remains perfectly in-sync with its heritage. Aware of its history, its contemporary counterparts not only preserve its origins, but protect them: a visual shield which holds the old in its safe embrace.

If the aforementioned mountains were monoliths, then this is a colossus. Imperial in its stature and almost entirely other-worldly. It stands proudly in the Japanese country-side, knowing with power. The sacred symbol of Japan, Mount Fuji adorned with snow, wearing a cap of white, is the very embodiment of the spirit of nature. Almost symbolically, shrines circle the base of Mount Fuji like spirits wandering to their Kami. Like a God, Fuji holds in its grasp destructive capabilities, a power so ferocious it could spell the end for surrounding areas.

Fuji possesses an unquantifiable might, an existence that’s seen the growth of our world. He was there at the beginning, and he will remain until the end. He’s spared the Japanese for some three hundred years, instead providing sanctuary and commerce for the local trade in return for their respect, paid through pilgrimage and worship at nearby shrines. Fuji’s volcanic nature has gifted locals with onsen3, an open invitation to cleanliness, a tenant in Shintoism. Entering the body of the bath, what can be deemed in itself the body of a God, provides cleansing of the mind, body and soul ensuring clarity in thought and existence, hatching a seamless coexistence with nature. Yet the volcanism was palpable. The air felt different, as if not at ease. It was tighter, constrictive and foreboding. Or perhaps it was the altitude.

___________________________
The charcoal clouds seldom leave the sky throughout June and July, a necessary ritual that balances the elements throughout the annum; a perfect marriage between opposition, like the concurrence of Shintoism and Buddhism in Japan. Two supposedly contrary ideals that have in time found a curated equity in society, and have long lived side-by-side to aid in Japan’s harmony. However, this June, the rainy season chose to over-stay its welcome, as if compensating for some unseen alterity.

___________________________1Kuraokami: Legendary Japanese dragon or Shinto deity of rain and snow.2Karoshi: Death through overwork3Onsen: Hot Spring

“The sky’s still the same, so it’s not over yet.” (Miyazaki, 2013) An ominous prediction from a man famed for his understanding of the natural balance of the earth. Despite the sky, despite the storm and despite these supposed unnatural shifts, the city refused to halt. Its people refused to stop. The endless beams of neon lights slowly began to spill into the darkening sky, like a watercolour painting insistent on its artist finishing his tale. Underneath the dancing incandescence, seas of people cascaded through to their destination like weaving Kuraokami1, their umbrellas held aloft – a futile barrier between them and the imperious rain. They pay no attention to the warning signs.

Men and women dressed in white shirts, black ties, black trousers, black skirts walk in congregations down the sodden streets, uniformly seeking shelter from the ill-tempered tempest. Its incessancy admirable; an entire month in the yearly cycle dedicated entirely to its quasi-ubiquitous self, yet it still refuses to leave. Treading carelessly through the puddles, their shined leather shoes no longer shining, feet no longer kept dry; underwear dampened, but not their spirits. With karoshi2 being a genuine and lingering threat in contemporary Japanese society, a little rain couldn’t possibly hurt anybody. Loyalty to their work perhaps taken a little too seriously, it could be argued that the Japanese have been losing sight of their established purpose, one that’s been celebrated and accentuated through centuries of worship and discovery.

A disruptive imbalance incrementally creeping up through the generations. The equilibrium hangs in the balance, and the tides creep closer up the shrinking shores.

So to the uninitiated Westerner, the presence of Religion seems perhaps more predominant than someone from England could begin to understand. Despite the conglomeration of churches scattered through my home-country, and religion’s deep-rooted presence in our history, Japan’s beliefs seem so intrinsic that an apparent disillusionment with their heritage seems unfathomable. Despite their best attempts to find a balance, the growing consumptive nature and stark over-working are presenting a dangerous predicament: the alienation from their cultural traditions.

It’s been addressed. The Japanese are cognisant of this looming quandary, but there’s an inevitability about it. The younger generation are disconnected, uninterested and dangerously ignorant. To them, nature is their walk to school: a path adjacent to a stream, perhaps the occasional frog on a lily-pad. The great outdoors’ existence has been over-sold- just take a gulp of fresh-air and you’re there. Memory’s become more distant as time passes, and that feels applicable to Japan’s history. It’s not yet as hazy as my third birthday party, but the edges are no longer distinct, the mist is settling over it. The tether between person and nature is slowly fraying; the seams are splitting before our eyes and soon, they’ll burst.

The protection of culture weighs heavy on Kyoto’s shoulders. Their humility in heritage is being stretched into the grasps of tourist traps and consumerism. They’re fighting a losing battle, but in amongst it all, it remains an innately special place. Despite the ever-spreading discontent, there’s a sense of serenity that cascades through the city, like some form of Karmic existence. “The Pure Land” perhaps – it plans to rid itself of all contamination through its preservation of culture, and much like the Zen Buddhist Philosophy it “demands an overcoming of [this] paradigm by achieving an holistic perspective in cognition, so that the Zen practitioner can celebrate, with a stillness of mind – a life of tending toward the concrete things and events of everyday life and nature.” It moves past the trivial, the anxious and nervous, and enters its own plane of existence unto itself.

___________________

The Ancient Capital

A cat lies sleepily next to the front gate. People stand and marvel, snapping photos for their blogs despite the grandiose Buddhist structure that stands before them. Inside, a courtyard is punctuated by a contorted Japanese maple that grows defiantly in the centre. “Western Temple of the Original Vow”. The decorated paper screens guard the temple from the infiltration of light. The steps leading up to it house a dozen other people, each removing their shoes as a sign of respect. Inside, the ornate red and gold stand a world away from the tatami mats and decorated screens. The scent of burning incense played delicately in the air. I knelt, watching patiently and respectfully. A young family, two parents and their new-born child smile. The mother cradles the infant, unable to take her eyes off of him. A monk kneels before them and takes a photograph. “Now life is living you”, read the words printed on the wall, the slogan used for the 750th memorial of Shinran Shionin, a Buddhist monk. A cryptic saying; perhaps it’s lost in translation, or perhaps it offers a deep insight into Buddhist philosophy: “… your life and my life are part of one Life. All arise by conditions. The differences between you and me are just [different] conditions that are shaping you as you are and me as I am.” It’s clear that Nianfo’s ideals coexist with Shinto’s understanding of “nature being life”, so emphatically stated by Prince Ashitaka in Mononoke, a young man who sees the ferocity of nature’s redemption when human’s fail to uphold their mutual respect for each other.
~~~~~~~~~~~
An endless barrage of vermillion meanders through a dense forest. Fushimi-Inari is a world unto its own. From the instant you step through the first torii gate you are enveloped in an almost spiritual existence; a world called upon by Gods and humans-alike to bridge the gap between their worlds and provide for all who need it. A shrine, tasked with good fortune and prosperity. An almost ancient precursor that still to this day exists as it did over a thousand years ago. Seldom does wandering aimlessly feel so rewarding – as you tread carefully beneath the gates, with only the last remnants of twilight as your guide, it’s difficult not to feel as if you’ve been transported to another world, a world far removed from the one you’re accustomed to, a world that refuses to get caught up in the troubles of the modern age. It’s the closest metamorphosis of Shinto’s idea of nature, as a tranquil sanctuary running deep into the forests beyond humans’ realm. But is it all a facade? A flickering light in the inevitable darkness? A redeeming factor perhaps, but not enough to appease nature.

There’s an over-arching sense of irony about this: An outsider, mostly ignorant to the nuances of the Japanese culture commenting on their fledgling links to their heritage, and their ever-expanding distance to the ancient Religions that they’ve practised for so long. But I had glimpses of it, moments of clarity that provided me with an unrivalled insight into the older generation of the Japanese. Courtesy of an elderly man, cracked and withered by his work yet wearing the kindest of smiles. He wasn’t yet defeated, and certainly not by his ailing body. Whilst the younger generation sit staring at their moving screens, enamoured by things they can’t touch and feel, the older generation retain their connection to nature. Their insistence and belief in karma, their treatment of that which sits around them, they hold Shintoism and Buddhism close to their hearts, and whether or not they practise it, they abide by their guidelines.

Perhaps an outside perspective is the best way to view it. Through that supposedly infinite peep-hole, we can learn a lot. Unfortunately, that peep-hole is stretched past infinity when viewing it through the lens of a camera, relayed through to our screens. There’s a sense of detachment, much like the one the younger generations of Japan are cultivating. Unfortunately, they were there to weather the storm.

_____________________

The Great Wave

“March 11th 2011. The day that nature changed course.”“The sky’s still the same, so it’s not over yet.” Penance for the impotence of the Japanese? A warning to its current generation? The quake came and Japan stood still. The wave came, and Japan fell to its knees. The sheer brute force of nature, its destructive capabilities on show for the world to see through their looking glass. The younger generation forced to watch on helplessly as their countryman lose their lives, land and loved-ones. A hapless display of the earth’s unbalance, a response to the growing petulance and hubris displayed by humankind. “Our thirst to possess heaven and earth is what makes us human” said a monk in Princess Mononoke. It’s devolved into a war that humankind can’t win. This isn’t malevolence, this is the restoration of the natural order.

Nature is life, and without it, we only know death.

]]>https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/06/03/a-lesson-in-divinity-and-the-mountains-that-moved-before-me-2/feed/018902687_10212878246301950_109070800_namateurtransmogrifierMy First Two Weeks in Sapporo (Kinda, not really)https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/04/29/my-first-two-weeks-in-sapporo-kinda-not-really/
https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/04/29/my-first-two-weeks-in-sapporo-kinda-not-really/#respondSat, 29 Apr 2017 05:27:42 +0000http://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/?p=217More My First Two Weeks in Sapporo (Kinda, not really)]]>

Two weeks in and my biggest take-away thus far is that homesickness is inevitable. Manageable, but inevitable. Did I expect anything less? Fuck no. I love my family and I love my cats and being away from them for any extended period of time sucks warm dicks. I’m also pretty fond of beds that have some semblance of lumbar support, which is why I have come to the conclusion that the inventor of the futon should be exhumed and pissed on.

It seems I’m far more vulnerable to homesickness in the morning; it could be waking up in an empty apartment, the prospect of a long day ahead of me, or a night of sleeping on what is basically a thin fucking duvet on a plank of wood. Thankfully, that uncertain feeling in the pit of my stomach tends to dissipate pretty quickly, partly thanks to the idyllic walk through Nakajima park. The park’s mostly empty at 7am aside from a few people heading for work, or early morning joggers, so it’s always incredibly still and indescribably serene. My favourite though, is when I manage to catch those stereotypical, elderly Asian women doing Tai Chi in their tracksuits and visors. I didn’t think that shit was real, but it IS.

Right now it’s just a matter of getting used to the cycle. Monday was overwhelming, but any first day of work is – I don’t speak the same language as these kids or 90% of the teachers, so as someone who thrives on conversation, that’s been difficult to get used to. Over the course of my first week I started to find my footing, discovering ways to more effectively communicate when words wouldn’t do. You end up flapping your arms a lot, making inane gestures with your hands that mean absolutely fuck all, but you get there and you find the things that work.

I don’t want to overstate the role that this plays in my appreciation of Japan, BUT the taco flavoured Doritos that they sell here are a near constant reminder that I made the right decision. I mean, they’re reaaaaaaaally fucking good. My search for the elusive Wasabi & Soy Sauce Doritos continues, though – at this point I think they’re just a figment of my imagination, and never actually existed. I ain’t giving up though. The Doritos almost make up for the lack of good cheese, and good bread, and good butter, and good sandwich meats, and pies, and goo- right, I’ll stop – different cultures, different foods, yadda yadda. Never have I been more disappointed than I was with the cheese toastie I attempted to make last night. It was heartbreaking. Plus, the absence of HP sauce just compounded my misery. I ate it anyway, because I’m a fucking adult and I paid for that shit.

I’ve still not completely regained my appetite since I’ve been here. It’s gotten better this past week, but it means I’ve not had much opportunity to sample a lot of the food on offer. The school lunches have been the closest I’ve gotten, and for the most part they’re pretty good; good sized portions, usually served with rice, milk is ubiquitous, some kind of meat or fish as a side, oh and mussels. Fucking mussels in EVERYTHING. Yesterday I had a curry with mussels. Thursday I had miso soup with mussels. Wednesday I had something (the name eludes me) with mussels. I mean, I was aware that Sapporo was known for its sea food, but I was expecting a little more variety than “here’s your (insert food name) with mussels and a side of mussels.” Still, the school lunches here are leagues ahead of England’s. Jamie Oliver, step your game up, son.

It’s still all quite surreal still, but I feel I’m acclimating well; I don’t speak on the train, I bow, I rarely eat/drink in public (that’s a lie, I always drink on the train platform. Sorry, Japan), my chopstick game is complimented regularly by the kids and I plan on buying a briefcase, so I guess you could say that I’m well on my way to becoming Japanese. Okay, you couldn’t say that at all, but I am figuring out the minutiae of Japanese life and doing my best to adhere to the plethora of cultural rules over here.

So far, I’d say this big ol’ step in my life has been a successful one. It’s Golden Week next week, so I’ll have a bit more time to explore, take in my surroundings, and have some legitimate updates on things I’ve done/seen with some accompanying shit. Until then though, this is just a quick one to tell you that I’m still very much alive and enjoying myself in Sapporo.

One last complaint though…why the fuck do Japanese traffic lights take SO long to change?! I’m not about that. Waiting 5 minutes just to cross a road, because the day I decide to jaywalk is the day a cop collars me and stares disappointedly my way.

]]>https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/04/29/my-first-two-weeks-in-sapporo-kinda-not-really/feed/02 Weeks in Sapporoamateurtransmogrifier2 Weeks in SapporoI don’t write enough, so let’s change that with a dose of honesty and introspection.https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/03/31/i-dont-write-enough-so-lets-change-that-with-a-bit-of-honesty-and-introspection/
https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/03/31/i-dont-write-enough-so-lets-change-that-with-a-bit-of-honesty-and-introspection/#commentsFri, 31 Mar 2017 15:47:56 +0000http://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/?p=209More I don’t write enough, so let’s change that with a dose of honesty and introspection.]]>I’m more than 11 months deep into 21. Most would still regard that to be in the realms of relative youth, but fuck I’m feeling old. I’m poised on the precipice of the biggest event in my life thus far, of that I have no doubt, yet I don’t feel like it’s an achievement. Perhaps I’ve not quite grasped the concept of moving 6,000 miles to a country where I don’t speak the language. Or maybe those near 22 years of self-doubt that have preceded this moment have finally culminated in a surprising amount of self-assurance. There’s always the off-chance that my brain simply hasn’t registered how momentous this is for someone who’s been perpetually caught in a comfortable bubble. Whatever the fuck the reason is for me remaining so calm, I won’t question it. I can’t tell if I’ve turned a corner emotionally, or if this is just the reality of adulthood.

It’s a step in the right direction, though. The catalyst for much-needed change, and a signifier that I’ve finally embraced the idea of doing something that isn’t wasteful. Or…at least that’s what I hope. It’s easy to look on huge changes in your life with faux-prescience, believing that this will finally prove to be the spurs in your arse that you so desperately need. We’ve all been misled by the false sense of motivation in the evenings when we wind down. “Tomorrow is the day.” Yeah fuckin’ right. The entirety of these past 4 unemployed months have been that sacred twilight period of harried hopefulness.

I guess I can move away from that instinctive cynicism though, and take solace in the fact that I’ve achieved a dream that I’ve had since I was fawning over Kelly Kapowski in Saved by the Bell reruns. (Alright, I tell a lie, I still do that. But who wouldn’t?) It was a pipe-dream – an idealistic goal that I set myself, not believing I’d ever actually see it come to fruition. But that’s why it doesn’t feel like an achievement, because it’s felt too easy. In creeps the cynicism again, but I’m 21, I pissed away my University experience, and I’ve done little to promote myself as a person who wants and loves to write and explore a genuine interest, yet I feel I’m being rewarded. I’m inspired, but lazy, and that’s entirely my own doing. I’m too comfortable with procrastination, and I think this drastic change of lifestyle, culture and location might seek to alter my seemingly stagnant mindset.

It is a monumental step forward for me. All this second-guessing is inherently human, and I guess my own way of keeping myself grounded. At 21 (almost 22) I could be on a multitude of different paths, but I’m here; I could be an expectant father, I could unwillingly still be in education, I could be serving shitty people in a shitty bar, but HOLY FUCK. I’M MOVING TO JAPAN. It’s not sunk in, and I truly hope it doesn’t so I can remain in this perpetual state of awe. I’ve written at length about my fascination with what I’d argue to be the most perplexing culture on earth, its congruence between the people and natural world, and the ecosystem of respect and progression that they’ve cultivated since WW2, but being provided the opportunity to make Japan my new home is special.

I won’t get carried away though, ‘cos I will go on. And on. And you will have to wrestle me to the ground and bind my hands to stop me from fervently mashing the keyboard, typing out my latest ode to Japan – but I’m no John Keats, so I’ll leave the poetry to the experts. Or I’ll just put it on hold until I get out there and feel like writing an angry Haiku about how much I fucking hate snow.

Okay that wasn’t so difficult. Eat your heart out, Matsuo Bashō. I do plan on hopefully documenting this step in my life, both in writing and video. I feel adding potential avenues for expression is always healthy and will not only help promote creativity, but also give me an alternative outlet when I don’t feel much like typing things out. Unfortunately, that seems to happen quite regularly.

I do want to write though. I want to get this abundance of thoughts down for posterity, for my own sake and honestly, for other people to read. I have far too much to say, most of it inane, a small portion of it insightful, but affording myself the opportunity to just idly toss it out there is cathartic. Not because I want to throw my troubles into the ether, but because I want to get words down on the page. Because I want to get better at this, at routinely expressing what’s circling the drain of my mind, at verbalising what I couldn’t before. To me, it feels like an exercise to become a better writer and that’s cool with me.

The idea of providing a glimpse into Japanese culture is an idea I really want to run with. If I can help harbour an interest in Japan for just one person, then I feel I’ve done something worthwhile. It’s a country and a culture that I’m deeply passionate about and I’d love nothing more than for that to resonate with other people and potentially fuel their future interests. The problem is, I’ve never been good at churning out anecdotes for others’ amusement – the over-dramatisation of an often run-of-the-mill life seems a little off-key to me. I like fiction, and I like stories but I’ll do my best. Maybe Sapporo is gonna be that necessary spark of inspiration that gets the (snow)ball rolling.

In short, I’m allowed to feel pride. As much as I like being a cynic and a contrarian, it doesn’t wear well in some cases. I’ll leave that side on Twitter where I can rile people up by saying that Logan is better than The Dark Knight (it is, blow me).

Sentimental cynic? Fuck that. Let’s never tread this ground again – you caught a rare side of me.

“Different strokes for different folks.”Before Twin Peaks, my exposure to David Lynch’s terrifyingly abstract brand of storytelling was limited to a screening of Eraserhead during a University lecture. The cerebral and surreal portrayal of the human condition seemed much like an exercise in morbidity, with any underlying sentiments or artefacts marred by the aggressive onslaught of grotesque symbolism. Admittedly, it’s a branch of cinema that’s not quite to my personal taste but my ignorance prevented me from delving into a side of a writer/director/producer/artist that was ostensibly very different from what I’d seen, but remained inherently similar in his propensity for the unconventional.

Eraserhead in many ways was the catalyst for Lynch’s illustrious career – despite its initial lukewarm reception, it picked up steam as a midnight movie and propelled the surrealist storyteller into the mainstream. Further success subsequently followed, eventually leading Lynch towards television and one of the most critically acclaimed and most loved shows of all time: Twin Peaks.

The life and times of a sleepy northern town

Twin Peaks is a masterpiece, make no mistake about that. We can hark on all we want about its second season, about the apparent decline in quality and obvious issues, but to allow that to detract from what is widely viewed as one of the greatest seasons of television ever would be a monumental disservice to the show’s legacy. Mark Frost and David Lynch created something in those first 6 episodes unlike anything that had ever been seen before on TV. It came at a time when quality wasn’t particularly present on the small-screen, so having an auteur able to make the successful transition from critically lauded filmmaker to the creator of a highly successful cult-hit TV show was the signifier of change.

Twin Peak’s first season, along with its feature length pilot, was as surreal and meticulous as you’d have expected from David Lynch, but it was also far more cinematic than a television show had any right to be. Filmed in Washington State, the mist-drenched pine trees helped David Lynch realise his vision, but most importantly it helped him build the most important facet of the Twin Peaks story: The town itself. The combination of odd-ball characters and the ever-present drizzle of Twin Peaks made for a place that nobody wanted to live in, but we were all fascinated by. As Angelo Badalamenti (the composer of Twin Peaks) said: “Twin Peaks, I think, will always endure, because Twin Peaks is a beautiful, dark, strange, off-center world that you can enter and wrap yourself up in. And yet, knowing that you’re safe and secure as you’re watching this disturbing dream.”

Despite being serialized, the inclusion of various directors across the course of Twin Peak’s first season ensured a collection of eclectic individuality whilst retaining David Lynch’s overall intended tone. Each episode felt like an individual entry, taking on its own importance and significance. That’s where season 2 struggled. It seemed to devolve, as if unintentionally moving away from the cinematic, standalone pieces of individual brilliance, and fell into the trap of typical network serialisation. It was a story that began to get bogged down in its propensity to introduce new characters. Perhaps it was a victim of its own need to innovate – the surreal aspects devolved into unnecessary oddness with less focused imagery and iconography, becoming detached and shallow for the sake of trying to fit the tone of the show. In its own haste to further its individuality, it lost what made it special. It became weary and lazy, moving ever further from Lynch and Frost’s vision with both writers beginning to take more of a backseat as new projects arose.

Part of Twin Peak’s original appeal was its ability to sincerely parody soap operas without detracting from its crime/mystery roots. It’s an amalgamation of many things, applying tropes from each and every facet of its influences, creating something greater than the sum of its parts like a televisionial melting pot. It brought together the most formidable aspects of the TV shows and films that came before it, whilst remaining painfully self-aware throughout its run. It boasted peripheral characters that were idiosyncratic, dynamic and wholly original making Twin Peaks an idyllic enigma. Its residents have secrets, but the town holds the biggest one of them all.

Twin Peaks demanded that people ask questions. And people did. “Who killed Laura Palmer?” The ceaseless intrigue accounted for a huge part of Twin Peak’s popularity, with its ability to send the watching world into a fervour with its incessant questions. It also ultimately led to its demise, by answering a question that didn’t need a resolution. As Shelly Johnson herself (Mädchen Amick) put it, “No one was happy to find out who did it. They liked to want to know, not necessarily to know.”

Such is the reason I believe Twin Peaks deserves its second chance at the height of the Internet era – it’s being reborn into a world that’s obsessed with opinion, discussion and fervent opposition to the aforementioned opinions and discussion. It’s a worldwide forum that not only permits, but also encourages people to discuss topical matters and throw their otherwise unwanted thoughts into the aether for people to latch on to and subsequently overreact to. It’s perfect.

If Season 3 can make us care even half as much as we did about Season 1, then the internet will spin itself into a frenzy whilst trying to answer David Lynch and Mark Frost’s next big question. The series ended 4 years before I was born, so I wasn’t there to experience the original fervour – whilst I imagine it’ll be difficult for Season 3 to replicate the initial hype and interest that the show garnered during its original run, I’m excited to be a part of the renaissance of one of my favourite shows, and to experience some level of the cultural impact that Twin Peaks still possesses to this day.

Twin Peaks in 2017

For most, having a considerable chunk of the original cast back amongst the evergreens of Twin Peaks would be enough. The series was cut short thanks to dwindling interest in its ever-more-cumbersome story, with the initial intrigue running dry after Laura Palmer’s murderer was revealed part way through the second season.

With the murder case solved, the continued building of relationships was integral to maintaining the series’ appeal, but instead the audience were graced with haphazard and forced love interests thanks to studio interference. With a long-stretching list of new names added to the Twin Peaks’ roster, it may be increasingly difficult to fully and satisfactorily explore both existing and new relationships in the forthcoming revival, but with Lynch and Frost afforded complete creative control of the series, this may be the truest Twin Peaks will ever be to both writers’ original vision.­

Put simply, I want more of the same: An assaultive pastiche that just about manages to maintain a healthy balance between morbid humour, self-aware soap opera, mysterious intrigue and the aggressively abstract. My one wish would be to have Michael Ontkean back as Sheriff Harry S. Truman but his retirement from acting shat on that pipe-dream. I’ll take solace in the rest of the returning cast members, and what I believe is Lara Flynn Boyle hiding behind a melted Jigsaw mask from Saw. I think it’s her…

Did Nintendo meet our lofty expectations, or do we feel as in the dark about their new handheld-home console hybrid as we did before their Tokyo conference? I talk about the divisive presentation, and how I feel it could’ve been improved.

I think I, like most people, were fairly (cautiously?) optimistic coming into the Switch presentation. We’d had a brief glimpse into what looked to be a promising piece of hardware: A handheld/home console hybrid, that wants to bridge the gap between on-the-go gaming, local multiplayer, online multiplayer and sofa gaming. Damn, sounds good right? Right.

The only problem is Nintendo didn’t seem to really know how to market it. This was the first information dump; the first time shareholders could view the product and gauge the reaction of the buying public. It was a golden opportunity for Nintendo, and they decided a live presentation was the best conceivable format for arguably their most important conference for the past 10 years.

So that bridges nicely into: HOW THE NINTENDO CONFERENCE SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED:

God, it was awkward at times, which is why it should have been a direct. Keep the live presenting to a minimum, especially dragging developers onto the stage to talk about the prospect of a game as they head into development with only a pre-existing character to talk about. It felt like there was a lot of dead air, and a clean, seamless direct would have been both more efficient, and more engaging whilst ensuring the quality of the presentation.

This should have been a showcase for games, most of which we got in a minute long montage at the end. Super Bomberman R? That’s a big deal. So make it a big deal, instead of focusing the little time we had on telling people that a stripped down version of FIFA is coming to the console. I mean, sure, that’s third party support if you want to look at it that way, but I can’t convince myself that FIFA’s skinnier, smaller and dimmer brother is going to be the feature that tickles their fancy and sways them into buying the console.

Purely from the perspective of a Nintendo fan, here’s how I would have structured the presentation, well, the Nintendo Direct:

1.DATE. PRICE. We’re in collective agreement that it is a little pricy, so best they got that out of the way quickly.
This is a no-brainer, arguably the only segment of the conference that I agreed with, which says a lot:
Configuration of controllers – yadda yadda.
Online support and new online system. Any trophy/achievement system? Wishful thinking.SPECS.Battery life? Done. Power? Done. Resolution? DUH-UNN.

2.Jump right in. Launch titles. Yes people are hyped for Legend of Zelda: breath of the Wild, but we’ve seen a heck of a lot of it already. We know it’s coming, it’s not a surprise, do it early. Hype people up with a game they want, and not control gimmicks.3.Launch titles end with 1 2 SWITCH. Perfect time to jump into the new HD Rumble stuff, introducing the features of the Joy Con controllers. Yes, it’s relatively gimmicky, yes it will seldom be used by developers, but it’s gonna be a quirky feature for launch titles that some people might get a kick out of.4.VIRTUAL CONSOLE. So, support for GameCube games which we know is happening. Which games are going to be included? Will it fit in with their online system, like support for NES and SNES games? Can we play MKDouble Dash, Luigi’s Mansion, Super Mario Sunshine, Metroid Prime? Expected prices? Controller compatibility with it?5.Splatoon 2! Mario Kart Deluxe! SmashU.2! (catchy right?) Here’s where we hear about the ports/sequels-ish — sprinkled in is the third party support. We don’t need an EA rep flown out to Japan to announce FIFA for goodness sake. Bethesda finally announces Skyrim even though it was featured in the fucking launch trailer. 80 games in development. Loads of 3rd party support. Marvel at all of these names. BAM done.
Some of the first words uttered in the New York Treehouse Live this morning were “I can’t wait for Mario Kart Deluxe, which wasn’t talked about in the presentation.” There, that’s your issue. Why was it brushed over? It’s what people want, so give them that.6.We go to REGGIE! He has some pretty sweet news. MARIO ODYSSEY. Thus begins the list of games that are currently still in development and are being readied for release later this year. We have a montage of developers who are working on games for the SWITCH instead of them fluffing their lines awkwardly on stage. CONFIRMED titles, and not prospective games.

7.We build up to the crescendo, the montage showcasing all the games that are coming to SWITCH in 2017 providing an extra lift in the final stretch. BUT THIS TIME, WE GET TITLES.

8.Ideally we end on a huge announcement for Metroid, F Zero, or Luigi’s Mansion 3, Star Fox, maybe an entirely new game based around Wario’s quest for love, I don’t know, anything. Just a short teaser trailer, a promise of an existing OR NEW Nintendo IP that we’re going to see as part of the Switch life-cycle. Just something to whet the watcher’s appetite, and help us understand that the Switch will bring us the games we wanted to see on the WiiU.

]]>https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2017/01/13/nintendo-switch-conference/feed/0maxresdefaultamateurtransmogrifiernintendo-switchStudio Ponoc: Studio Ghibli’s Second Coming?https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2016/12/16/studio-ponoc-studio-ghiblis-second-coming/
https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2016/12/16/studio-ponoc-studio-ghiblis-second-coming/#respondFri, 16 Dec 2016 19:36:07 +0000http://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/?p=149More Studio Ponoc: Studio Ghibli’s Second Coming?]]>I’ve prepared myself for the end of Studio Ghibli on numerous occasions, although Hayao Miyazaki doesn’t seem to quite grasp the concept of retirement. He’s flirted with the idea before, but things seemed pretty final after his Oscar nominated swansong The Wind Rises in 2013, with his company partner Isao Takahata, also bowing out some months after him with The Tale of Princess Kaguya. Despite new blood coming through the ranks — one being Miyazaki’s own son, Goro –the studio halted production indefinitely in 2014 after the founders’ respective retirements. 2014’s When Marnie Was There seemed like it marked the end of an immeasurably successful era of animation , but it proved to be the catalyst for something else.

Studio Ponoc.

Not quite as catchy as Ghibli, right? Although I’d assume that the name is the least of their comparative-related worries. Out of the embers of Ghibli’s in-house animation comes the new Studio, formed by former Ghibli producer Yoshiaki Nishimura and long-time Ghibli animator and director Hiromasa Yonebayashi. Ponoc could quite easily be thought of as Ghibli’s second coming, a changing of the guard that avoids the burden of the Ghibli name with Ponoc’s parent company moving into different avenues of animation (they co-produced Dutch-British film The Red Turtle this year). Presumably, this was the easiest way for Nishimura and Yonebayashi to work on films similar to Studio Ghibli’s, but with complete creative control on their releases.

The studio’s first film, Mary and the Witch’s Flower, is slated for a summer 2017 release in its native Japan. Taking a cue from their forefathers, Ponoc have gone West, adapting “The Little Broomstick” by English writer Mary Stewart. It’s very Ghibli. Very Ghibli. As you’d expect when it’s coming from the same director and animators – it boasts the same immaculate and meticulous hand-drawn backgrounds, unmistakable Ghibli character design and a very heavy dose of whimsy and fantasy.

But some of it seems too familiar. Mary, for one, bears a striking resemblance to Ponyo from Hayao Miyazaki’s 2009 film of the same name; she’s a young, red-headed girl with sleepy eyes, but this time she’s a witch who finds a black cat and an enchanted broom. Admittedly, the those are both common tropes, but it seems to encroaching on Kiki’s Delivery Service territory, especially the shot at the end of the trailer where Mary falls from her broom into a mass of greenery.

Hey, this looks pretty familiar too.

The trailer itself is only 32 seconds long, but what’s briefly shown gives me the impression that Ponoc’s first bout won’t stray too far from what they know. It feels like an amalgamation of ideas from some of Ghibli’s past films, and of course there’s nothing wrong with that (the Japanese box office and academy award recognition prove that) – so, there’s a reason why Ghibli have reigned mostly uncontested for the past 25 years, especially in the West. Whether this is Ponoc trying to pull in some of their previous audience from Studio Ghibli, or if this is their direction headed forward remains to be seen, but if the new studio are capable of capturing even half the magic that Studio Ghibli are renowned for, then we’re in for a treat.

2016’s been unkind at the best of times; we’ve lost innumerable icons and all but abandoned our collective sanity over political melodrama. While the year keeps delivering swift blows to the ribs as we lay already defeated on the ground, Disney seem intent on fighting back, giving us even a momentary reason to smile. With Zootopia(tropolis in England) and Jon Favreau’s The Jungle Book raking in almost $2 million between them in the first quarter of the year, Moana could quite easily have been overshadowed by its celebrated predecessors– instead, we get an entire year of outstanding films and a nice crescendo at the end to give us a little grin before the festive period.

Contrary to Moana’s initial premise (which was entirely centred on the Polynesian demigod Maui) the film explores the tale of the Chief’s daughter, Moana, who is in-line to become the Island’s first female leader. She feels limited on Motonui, where she’s repeatedly told that she mustn’t travel beyond “the reef” despite wanting to forge her own identity after being drawn to the sea. She’s torn between the ocean and her people; a respect for tradition and her own want for adventure. It turns out the ocean and the need to save her people are too compelling, leading her on an adventure where she finds Maui, the now hook-less demigod whose storied past is emblazoned across his body in traditional Polynesian tattoos with a mind of their own.

Dwayne Johnson’s talents are well-documented, and as Maui he’s given room to flex his dramatic, comedic and actual muscles, playing off newcomer Auli’i Cravalho as they set out on their trying journey to break the curse. Despite being a demigod, Maui feels like an exceptionally human character – his flaws are increasingly apparent, and despite his swaggering arrogance, his need to impress humanity is the very thing that’s destined to doom them.

Moana’s childlike hopefuleness completely contrasts Maui’s shallow search for gratification, and she’s constantly challenging him. Despite being a debutant in a Disney film, Auli’i Cravalho shows no signs of apprehension, gracefully jumping headfirst into one of film’s most layered female characters in recent history. She’s exceptional, showing an inherent knack for timing and emotion – it’s easy to believe that the character was moulded around her and her infectious personality, but Moana’s character was almost entirely designed by the time Cravalho was chosen as the voice of Disney’s latest leading lady.

One of the most important components of a Disney film will always be its music, and luckily for Disney, Lin-Manuel Miranda who, off the back of his supremely successful and critically fellated musical masterpiece Hamilton, has leant his talents to a number of ditties on Moana’s soundtrack. The almost over-bearing adoration for 2013’s ‘Let It Go’ from Frozen was an understandably difficult task to follow, and whilst “How Far I’ll Go” might not hit the same levels of ubiquity in households with a child under the age of 10, it does a damn good job as the film’s empowering anthem. There’s a strong balance between the traditional anthemic Disney ballad and the celebration of the film’s Polynesian heritage, seamlessly marrying the two.

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson adds another talent to his ever-expanding repertoire by showing his pipes on the self-aggrandising “You’re Welcome”, with Flight of the Concords’ Jemaine Clement offering a Bowie tinged materialistic crab anthem in “Shiny.” It’s one of the most diverse and eclectic Disney soundtracks in recent memory, written with the understanding that it’s almost always going to be compared to Frozen.

If Rapunzel and Merida’s hair were feats of animation excellence, then Moana’s Polynesian paradise is the superlative. The animation is consistent, crisp and a glorious exploration of the tropical greens and blues of Polynesia. The film is worth seeing just for the water, and I understand what a ludicrous statement that is, but the detail is meticulous, the fidelity is obscene; it truly is something to be marvelled at, and Disney prove once again that not only are they triumphant in the writers’ room, but they also blow everyone out of the expertly-crafted, better-than-real-life water.

Moana signifies an even further step away from the Disney Princess tales of old, giving the world another trail-blazing female not content with the archaic formula we’d been accustomed to. Bravo, Disney.

]]>https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2016/12/03/moana-review/feed/0moana-title-picamateurtransmogrifierMoana Header.png“I’m late to everything…” An introduction to my first series.https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2016/11/27/im-late-to-everything-an-introduction-to-my-first-series/
https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2016/11/27/im-late-to-everything-an-introduction-to-my-first-series/#respondSun, 27 Nov 2016 17:49:24 +0000http://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/?p=115More “I’m late to everything…” An introduction to my first series.]]>I’m perpetually late. Not to events, gatherings, meals or lectures – in fact my timing in those instances is pretty spot on. No, it’s films, albums, TV shows and any other conceivable form of media that may already boast considerable acclaim or followers that I tend to drift towards some years after their release. So alright, yes, I was untruthful, I am mostly late to everything, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?

It’s not intentional, I promise. I don’t go out of my way to ignore Ghostbusters or the Godfather trilogy, I mean, why would I? I’m sure I’d love the ever-living shit out of them and plus, it’d be one less reason for people to hate me on film forums which is something I can definitely get behind. No, it’s just a case of me being inherently stubborn and having unbridled access to an overwhelmingly large catalogue of films I’ve never seen, music I’ve never listened to and games I’ve never played. I think that makes me ungrateful, right? I’m essentially bemoaning Netflix and Spotify for having too much on offer, but I don’t mean it like that. Although, I imagine the entire process of browsing through a streaming site, adding films or music to a watch/listen list, then never returning to them is habitual for most people. If it isn’t, then you clearly have far more self-control than anyone should be allowed.

Moving on: I am absolutely the person who will wax lyrical about something everyone else watched five years ago, much to the detriment of my social interactions. I’m starting to think it’s my fatal flaw. Of course, there’s nothing more productive than dedicating an entire series of blog posts to conversations that most of my friends detest, but that’s what I’m going to do.

“I’m late to everything!” will act as a retrospective for things that I missed out on during their original run for varying reasons. I may not have been old enough, I may have not cared, I may not have been born. Either way, it’ll be fun to retroactively look at these and see how they hold up some years after their release – for example, my first post is going to be about Twin Peaks. Does it hold up? I mean, not really. Some of it looks great, some of it looks like a straight-to-video Nickolodeon movie from the late 80s. Was that intentional? Of course. Is it still enjoyable? You bet your ass it is.

Media is often built for the period it’s released in. Society and culture at the time are paramount to your consumption – they can completely shape or skew the way you view things which can be good or bad for a multitude of reasons. For example, it’s common knowledge that I love the 80s, for whatever reason the aesthetic of it appeals to me and I connect with the way in which films and music were produced some thirty years ago. With that in mind, something like Miami Vice is an (admittedly hyperbolic and distorted) view and time capsule of that era, I was born in Birmingham, England in 1995, so my existing experience of Miami in the mid-80s is non-existent, but watching Miami Vice thirty years after it aired provides me with insight into the political, social and cultural artefacts of the time. I know we can’t all be part of a suave multi-ethnic detective partnership, and of course it isn’t the most authentic portrayal of the world at the time, but at least we get some understanding of it.

I’ll stop myself before this devolves into some University-grade analytical essay about the cultural significance of Miami Vice, although that woulda been one hell of a dissertation topic. For now, this is the series of posts I’m going to be running with and hopefully people will turn me onto things that I’ve missed and they’ll be included here in the future. I hope you all enjoy it.

]]>https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2016/11/27/im-late-to-everything-an-introduction-to-my-first-series/feed/0lte-pic-1amateurtransmogrifierJapanese Fans – By An Uninitiated Westernerhttps://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2016/11/27/japanese-fans-by-an-uninitiated-westerner/
https://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/2016/11/27/japanese-fans-by-an-uninitiated-westerner/#respondSun, 27 Nov 2016 16:09:54 +0000http://amateurtransmogrifier.wordpress.com/?p=103More Japanese Fans – By An Uninitiated Westerner]]>6,000 miles does a lot to culture: New York to Baghdad, Stockholm to Johannesburg – being almost a quarter of the way around the world will significantly affect the way each respective country functions, with cuisine, people, arts and entertainment each having their distinctive quirks. The most important question being: how does culture affect the beautiful game? Birmingham to Yokohama is quite the distance, after all.

I’d become accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of Japanese culture, but a myriad of industrialised warehouses in the middle of Britain paints a slightly different picture to Kanagawa prefecture’s bustling, but scenic port town. Despite this trip being my third venture to the country, I’d surprisingly never decided to cross two huge interests of mine in my previous trips: football and Japan.

That’s where Yokohama F. Marinos come in: rewind a year and a half before my trip, and an interest forged from cinematic nostalgia and a shallow footballing mind drew me to the Yokohama based team. A 2nd placed finish and a victorious Emperor’s Cup campaign assured me that I’d be in for some future glory. It was a welcome change to my English nightmare with Aston Villa, who in the last few years had become perennial relegation battlers with a tedious brand of hoof-ball being employed by clueless Scot, Paul Lambert. The Marinos seemed like an ideal accompaniment to this dearth of creativity, countering such lacklustre football with a tidy possession based game and a well-drilled defence that had conceded the League’s lowest amount of goals.

My plan quickly unravelled, and Yokohama fell victim to an incredibly poor start, entering the mid-summer break narrowly avoiding a place in the relegation zone. It was familiar territory for me, but it wasn’t the end of the world. A sense of familiarity with Japanese football and all of its nuances had begun to sink in, even after The Samurai Blue’s miserable World Cup campaign reared its unforgiving head. Despite the ever-present optimism that followed Zaccheroni’s team to Brazil, it would’ve been difficult to remain positive, but the further I journeyed into Japan’s footballing world, the more I began to take note of something inherently special about it. The fans. They possess an unbridled level of investment in the game, staking a huge amount of pride in something that is, for the most part, a recent entity in their country. They’re ingrained in the foundations of Japanese football, and their support at the World Cup garnered significant praise and attention from the watching world; they became a constant fix on Social Media sites and a point of envy for all other travelling fans.

My trip to the Nissan Stadium felt particularly alien. When Yokohama F. Marinos conceded against Montedio Yamagata the fans simply continued on, their voices never faltering, their support unwavering; it was a stark contrast to the cynical tribalism of the English supporters, who seemed quicker to express their disdain than their appreciation for their team. There was a distinct sense of community and camaraderie amongst the supporters and they seemed to truly idolise and appreciate the players who represented their club. The players are on the pitch giving what they can for the cause, and it’s the support’s philosophy to always encourage them. Japanese football fans lack the fickleness which is so prevalent in football in the 21st century.

We see so many people clinging onto a hopeless sense of entitlement that they’ve adopted from their previous generation – a generation who often watched their teams find success in the 70s, 80s or 90s. Perhaps this is where the JLeague’s infancy comes up trumps, as success tends to impair relative judgement when it comes to football. It’s easy to feel aggrieved at something that once offered some level of triumph fading into mediocrity, especially with huge investments in a competition such as the Premier League. Teams tend to maintain their current standing, or thereabouts, for an extended period of time (with obvious exceptions: Portsmouth, anyone?) but in the JLeague, it’s considerably less predictable. Take Gamba Osaka for example. They achieved consecutive first place finishes in 2013 and 2014, but the fact that the first of the two titles was in the second division and guaranteed their promotion is testament to the capricious and subsequently entertaining nature of Japanese football. The Japanese may well be late to the beautiful game, but they’re definitely doing it right.

Although fans of JLeague teams aren’t guaranteed years of consistent success, they are guaranteed entertainment, and that at its core, is what Football is. It seems that in Japan, football is celebrated for its truest form, without any underlying prerogative, or expectation. Of course there is pride, and there’s disappointment too, but football, when stripped back from all its politics, is there to be enjoyed and I believe that the Japanese more than most, understand that.

This piece was published in issue 18 of JSoccer magazine in December 2015. They’re the main source of information and news on Japanese football for English speakers – if interested, head over to http://www.jsoccer.com or follow them on Twitter at @JSoccerMagazine.